


Twenty-Two Days

by BrightlyBound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightlyBound/pseuds/BrightlyBound
Summary: "While he bumbles about, making a beautiful fool of himself, Ginny feels sick all the time. She catches him with a faraway look in his eye one dismal afternoon in the common room, and her stomach twists itself so tightly she can scarcely move, because she knows who he is thinking of, day dreaming of, and it is not her." One missing moment for each sunlit day together.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> For hpshipweeks on Tumblr, 2016.
> 
> Enjoy.

I. (All Year Four)

Watching him is fascinating… until he falls for Cho and her pretty smile and perfect hair and swear to Merlin _shit Seeking_. Then it’s just a train wreck. While he bumbles about, making a beautiful fool of himself, Ginny feels sick _all the time_. She catches him with a faraway look in his eye one dismal afternoon in the common room, and her stomach twists itself so tightly she can scarcely move, because she knows who he is thinking of, day dreaming of, and it is not her.

 

II. (When Everyone but Harry Knows)

She isn’t aware of it at first. After all, she’s given up hope, or so she tells herself (over and over and over again). She has Dean now, the most attentive boyfriend she could have ever asked for- _did_ she ask for this? Blimey, what a pain in the arse. But then there is a loud chortle at her side, and Demelza digs her elbow into Ginny’s, almost knocking her face first into her porridge.

Ginny checks the tips of her hair for food, then looks up at her friend with a sleepy glare. “What the hell?”

Demelza is grinning ear to ear and whispers, “Harry Potter is _staring you down._ ”

She is suddenly wide awake. “ _What_?”

Sure enough, when she whips her head around like an idiot and finally spots him several seats over, he’s hastily looking away from her general vicinity. Her heart launches up into her throat.

“He wants to get in your pants.”

They roar with laughter, Ginny’s face pink as she protests, “Demelza!”

 

III. (She Takes Him)

She feels his eyes constantly now that she knows he’s watching her like she used to watch him, and sometimes his gaze makes her feel hot all over.

She kisses Dean harder, refusing to think of Harry’s messy hair and bright eyes, his warm embrace and lovely smile.

He lost his chance. He took too long. She chose someone else.

She lets the resentment burn away at her, and it’s awful wondering what the term would have been like had she waited just a little longer for Harry to come around, ignored Dean’s advances all those months ago, took her time to think things through. She wakes up every morning feeling as if she were being pulled in a dozen different directions.

She takes it out on poor Dean, who doesn’t deserve a lick of it.

 

IV. (Tease)

He is sitting across from her, face buried in a book, and she knows he glances up at her when he thinks she won’t notice.

With the devil on her shoulder spurring her on, Ginny reaches quickly into her bag before her nerves get the better of her, roots around for the strawberry and cream sugar quill she’d packed in there just this morning, and pops it into her mouth. A minute later, she makes a generous sucking noise and looks over at Harry from beneath her eyelashes.

He’s staring wide-eyed at her mouth.

Ginny grins.

 

V. (She Leaves Him)

She’s in a rotten mood, and Dean is being a right arse. When he’s not pleading with her to take him back, he’s ignoring her completely.

“Look, all I want is my notebook back,” she says to him, cornering him in the library one sunny spring day.

She’s drawn the attention of his friends, and Dean’s cheeks color in embarrassment.

“I want to keep it,” he says quietly, turning his back to Parvati, Lavender and Seamus, who pretend not to listen.

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “What for? Blackmail?”

“No,” Dean says. “For when we get back together.”

“That’s not going to happen,” she says firmly.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re done. We’re not compatible. I’m sick of you and you’re sick of me. Give it a rest already and give me the _damn notebook back_!”

Her voice has reached a crescendo, and she can hear Madame Pince’s heels clicking louder and faster in their direction.

She sees his jaw tick, and he opens his mouth to respond.

“Just give it to her already, Dean,” Parvati cuts through, voice hard.

Ginny isn’t sure if Parvati wants her study time back or if she wants Dean. Either way, Ginny’s grateful for the interference because Dean reaches into his robe pocket and chucks the little pink notebook at her. She catches it easily enough and turns quickly to stomp away… only to run smack right into Madame Pince.

She hears him snort, and Ginny vows never to speak with the pillock again.

 

VI. (Watch It Die)

“Rough day?”

She’s in the process of ripping the notebook to shreds in front of the common room fireplace when Harry’s voice floats over her. He’s fiddling with the strap of his bag, and Ginny can see Ron and Hermione settling on the couch behind him.

“It could have gone better, yeah,” she admits with a pained smile.

He smiles apologetically back at her, all lopsided and kind, and her fingers stumble over the pages of her previous relationship.

“What’s all this?”

He’s nodding towards the torn parchment piled beside her.

She shrugs. “Nothing important.”

It’s the truth, anyway.

He is staring at her intently, as if he could read her every thought. “Are you chucking it?”

She finds herself feeling lighter as he sits beside her and gathers a handful of love letters and little notes and drawings to and from Dean Thomas.

“Straight into the fire.”

They toss the pages of the little notebook into the grate. The fire flares for a moment, crackling merrily, and together, they watch it die.

 

VII. (And So, It Begins)

Her mother would tell her to stop being such a silly child, but this is in her nature. She can’t help it, especially with Harry there, laughing at her antics.

“Hold _still_ , Ron.”

“Bloody hell, Ginny. You’ve done this before, and it didn’t end well.”

“I was ten years old! I think my sense of equilibrium has sharpened since.”

Another successful Quidditch practice, and Ginny feels particularly happy and free and _bold_. She uses Ron’s shoulders to boost herself up, places her feet on her hovering broom… and nearly kills herself.

“Ooof!”

Harry breaks her fall, and they’re tangled limbs and sweaty robes.

“Sorry,” she says breathlessly, using his chest to propel herself away from him.

He’s too close, and his glasses are askew, and if she doesn’t remove herself from his vicinity, doesn’t get his thigh out from between her legs, she’s going to do something rather rash and careless and stupid and _fuck_ , her lips are inches from his jawline, spattered with stubble, and all she can think about for one hazy second is attacking him like some sort of animal-

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “Just-elbow, in my ribs, can you-?”

She can hear Hermione and Ron laughing, and the two of them miss the awkward moment when Harry’s hand grazes her right breast as they sort themselves out.

Ginny is as red as her hair, and Harry isn’t far off.

She launches up and trips on her robes in her haste to put some distance between them. Ron reaches out to steady her, eyes shining with mirth.

“What’s this about sharpened equilibrium?”

She doesn’t mention that it’s Harry who has her all out of sorts, and she never will… not out loud, anyway.

 

VIII. (Always Never Alone)

He has the greatest mates in Ron and Hermione, but blimey, they are _always there_. Ginny wonders what it’d be like to be alone with Harry. He always seems on the verge of telling her something, eyes growing serious before he realizes they could be heard. She tries to trick Hermione into giving them space.

It does not work.

“Ron’s been paying a lot of attention to you lately,” Ginny begins quietly.

It’s lunch time, and Harry is sitting beside Ron and just across from her. His foot has already bumped into her twice; the first time, she looked up at him and he gave her an apologetic- and slightly embarrassed- smile, and the second time, they both just grinned at each other like loons.

Hermione’s spoon clatters loudly against the side of her soup bowl.

“What makes you say that?”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Don’t get me started. You know he’s been different since he ditched Lavender.”

“And Harry’s been different since you dumped Dean.”

Ginny is not expecting such a comment. She jerks and elbows her pumpkin juice, and the sticky drink spills into her lap and runs halfway down the table. Hermione is giggling beside her, and Ginny flushes when Harry cleans it all up with a swish of his wand and smiles at her so indulgently that she finds herself withholding the urge to lunge across the table at him.

“Thanks,” she says to Harry, then to Hermione, hisses, “you’re absolutely horrible.”

Hermione hums cheerfully as she returns to her meal.

 

IX. (Together)

They are fast, as if they were making up for lost time, and Agrippa, his lips are a drug. Honestly.

It’s the morning after the Quidditch final, after Gryffindor’s win, after her life flipped completely on its head, and already she’s snogging him in a broom cupboard like she’d die if she did anything else.

He’s a little shy, and a bit tentative, but then she guides his hand beneath her shirt, and he catches on quickly enough.

 

X. (Proper)

She does not get to spend much of the day with him, not on such a hellish Monday, but at least there’s breakfast together, and he leaves a bemused Ron and a grinning Hermione behind to walk her to class, insisting on carrying her bag.

“But I can carry it myself,” she says as he pulls it from her shoulder.

“Humor me? I’ve never had a proper girlfriend before.”

Her stomach grows very warm. “Okay.”

 

XI. (The Invisibility Cloak)

“Let’s skip dinner.”

Ginny blinks at him. “Weasleys don’t _skip dinner_ , Harry. It’s just not done.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?”

Ginny is intrigued, so she allows him to take her hand and guide her through the throng of hungry students, away from The Great Hall, and to an empty corridor after passing Professor McGonagall, who raises her eyebrows at them in acknowledgment and nothing more.

Harry opens his bulky bag, and pulls out a large swath of glimmering fabric. Ginny knows what it is immediately and gapes at him.

He grins and hands it to her.

After a beat, he says, “Go on, put it on.”

She does not need to be told twice.

With a squeal, she throws the Invisibility Cloak over herself and proceeds to dance around and tease Harry with invisible kisses before he manages to get a hold of her, pull himself beneath the cloak, and snog her laughing mouth.

 

XII. (A Little Mischief)

They skive off their afternoon classes and sneak, while under the Invisibility Cloak, through Slughorn’s third year class _as he is teaching it_ , slip into the largest ingredients cabinet and jiggle off the back paneling, climb a narrow stairwell, all to reach a hidden and overgrown courtyard, one that only appears between one and three o’clock on alternating Thursdays when the sun is out.

“How did you find this out?” she asks him as they shuck off the cloak and begin to explore.

“Over the summer, when I have nothing to do, I study the map sometimes. I found out about this last year, but I never had the chance to check it out.”

“Thank you,” she blurts out, feeling oddly sentimental, “for sharing all of this with me.”

Harry turns to look at her from the middle of the courtyard, wildflowers up to his knees and bathed in sunlight, his wild hair further mused by a swift breeze. She’s never seen such a perfect sight.

“Thank you,” he says in return, his eyes soft, “for being with me.”

 

XIII. (Over A Muffin)

It happens accidentally.

She doesn’t make it to breakfast, not when there is blood all over her clothes and on the bed and on her favorite blanket, _damn it_. She’s a frenzy of cleaning and stain-removing charms, and s _courgify, scourgify, scourgify_ is still echoing in her head when she rushes into Transfiguration twenty minutes late, sweaty and feeling very ill.

McGonagall takes one look at her, takes pity on her, and returns to her lecture without deducting points.

Harry is outside the door when class lets out.

“Are you all right?” is his greeting, and he’s looking at her with worry-filled eyes.

She’s in his arms a second later, blinking back tears, and she breathes him in as he embraces her.

“Tired. Hurting. Good now,” she mumbles into his chest.

He’s rubbing soothing circles into her back with warm, warm hands, and she thinks she could be lulled to sleep right then and there.

It happens when he says, “I saved you a chocolate muffin.”

Her heart is full to bursting because he is _made_ for her.

“God, I love you.”

They both freeze in surprise. Then she looks up at him. She wants him to know that she is not joking, that she _means_ it.

“I _love_ you.”

Harry pulls her impossibly closer, kisses her hard, and says, “I love you, too.”

 

XIV. (Again)

“I really have to study!” she says on their way down to the library, laughing and dancing out of his arms when he tries to pull her into an empty classroom.

He groans, lengthening his stride for a second to catch back up to her, but she wiggles away when he gets close again. “Am I going to have to chase you?”

“You’re terrible at chasing,” she teases.

He smirks and drops both of their bags. “Is that right?”

Her eyes widen, and then she’s shrieking as he dashes towards her. She feigns left when he’s close, goes right, and spins around, passing him. Harry makes an indignant sort of noise before pursuing her again.

They are both in hysterics when he finally snatches her around the waist.

“I love you,” he whispers, breathless, as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

His eyes rove over her face, adoringly, and she grins against his lips. “I love you.”

 

XV. (And Again…)

It’s hard and warm in her hands.

She looks up at Harry.

“Are you sure?”

He nods and says, “’Course. You know what you’re doing.”

She swings her leg over his Firebolt and takes off, screaming, “I love you!”

 

XVI. (And Again…)

It’s hard and warm in her hands.

She looks up at Harry.

“Are you sure?”

She nods and says, “Yeah, just… tell me what to do.”

He does, and getting him off is even more brilliant than she ever thought, especially when he comes and gasps into her neck, “I love you.”

 

XVII. (Disturbing Ron)

After showering and dressing in her most worn pajamas, Ginny descends the girls’ staircase to meet Harry, who is engrossed in a chess match with Ron.

She frowns, wanting nothing more than to be alone with her boyfriend. She climbs into Harry’s lap, seeking immediate attention. He slips his hand between her pajama top and bottoms, and says rather soothingly, “Ron’s almost beat me.”

Sure enough, five long minutes later, Ron trounces Harry and rises up to stretch.

“I’m off to bed,” Ron says pointedly. “Coming?”

Ginny sees her opening. “It depends how fast you leave.”

Harry instantly goes red, and Ron looks like he’s been clubbed over the head.

“What-?”

“I’ll be up soon,” Harry tells him hastily.

Already giggling, Ginny erupts into a peal of laughter.

Ron makes a disgusted noise and leaves, muttering under his breath.

 

XVIII. (Encroaching Darkness)

They’re out in their secret courtyard, and Arnold is rolling down the slope of her back as she checks over her Charms homework. Harry is lying beside her, slowly inching closer. She plays hard to get and pretends not to notice him.

But then he stops, and the next time she glances over at him, he is asleep.

He looks very peaceful, fully relaxed, and the lines that usually mar his forehead have smoothed out. He looks younger, too, by years almost, and she remembers him as he was when she’d first met him, small and impossibly bright.

“You’re staring.”

She jumps. “I thought you were asleep!”

Harry opens one eye to peer at her through crooked spectacles. “I was for a second.” He closes his eye. “Come sleep with me.”

She colors a little at this, bites her lip when she thinks of the stack of classwork she has yet to complete, and abandons the idea of finishing much of anything tonight; she has a gut feeling that her relationship with Harry is too good to be true, that something is bound to come between them, and soon. She has an inkling of an idea of what it could be, and a flash of terror takes the breath right out of her.

“Ginny?”

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Sorry, I’m just… going mad.”

He is rolling her over onto her back, and her legs loosely encircle his thighs. Arnold squeaks and skitters into Harry’s bag for safety.

“What’s wrong?” he says, nothing but concern in his voice. She doesn’t want to upset him, but then he begs, “Tell me.”

“Don’t leave me,” she finally blurts out.

Harry’s expression clears and he slumps over her, burying his head into her neck. “I don’t want to talk about this, Ginny.”

“But the lessons you’re taking, with Dumbledore-”

“You know I can’t tell you,” he says.

“It’s some plan you two are working on, right? To get rid of Riddle once and for all?”

“Babe, please.”

He tries to kiss her, and she turns her head away, mostly so he won’t notice her glistening eyes.

Harry pulls away from her, and she lets him.

 

XIX. (The First Row)

“I want to.” It’s the softest of whispers spoken into the darkness, but he hears it. She knows he does. “Please, I want to.”

Harry drags his lips away from her and settles his chin on her hip. “You’re just saying that. After yesterday...”

“No, I’m not,” she insists, though he is partly right. She’d given him- _them_ \- a lot of consideration since then, and she wants to be with him, _all of him,_ before everything falls apart around them _._

“You know I want to, too.”

She raises herself onto her elbows and looks down her body at him. “Then why aren’t we?”

“You’re not ready.”

“I’m not ready? _I’m_ not _ready_?”

She is pulling up her pants, then her jeans, and she’s shaking all over, absolutely furious and so, so _hurt_. Who the bloody hell does he think he is? He couldn’t, wouldn’t know how ready or not she was, not unless she told him, _which she’d just done_. Did he not believe her? And who turned down sex? Who?!

Harry Sodding Potter, apparently!

“Ginny-” Harry begins, perhaps only then realizing how much of an _idiot_ he is.

Ginny can’t find her bra, but she is too hacked off to care. She throws on her t-shirt, opens the door of the Room of Requirement, and says none too kindly before slamming it shut, “Bugger the fuck off.”

 

XX. (The Apology)

She avoids him for a full day, knowing she overreacted and feeling absolutely horrid about it.

She skips breakfast all together, dodges into a lavatory when she sees him rounding a corner after her Potions lesson, and takes the long way down to the Defense classroom, shunning her usual path. He must have given up trying to corner her sometime around lunch, because she no longer catches glimpses of his disheveled head looming over the crowd of pupils.

She sits with Luna at the Ravenclaw table, just to be safe, and devours two sandwiches in less than seven minutes.

“Are you practicing for an all-you-can-eat competition?” Luna asks. “We’re reviewing strange Muggle practices in Muggle Studies. Apparently hot dogs are a big thing, and if you soak the bun in water-”

Around a mouthful of a third ham and cheese toastie, Ginny moans, “Please, not now, Luna. I’ll lose my appetite.”

Luna stares at her. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d finished.”

Ginny shakes her head. “I’m starved.”

“Oh. That’s right. You’re avoiding Harry, aren’t you? He told me this morning that he’d ticked you off.”

Ginny chokes, and Luna pats her roughly on the back. “What else did he say?”

“Well, when I told him not to break your heart, he went kind of funny, said he didn’t intend to, and rushed off somewhere. Haven’t seen him since.”

When she enters the common room after what feels like the longest day of her life, her dorm mates pounce upon her and drag her up the stairs to their dormitory, tittering and giggling, and Ginny cannot for the life of her figure out what they’re saying. They’re speaking vaguely, but emphatically, and it all makes sense when she steps into the fifth year girls’ room.

Ginny’s nightstand holds two large vases of deep red roses, the windowsill by her bed three, and her bed is littered with every kind of chocolate found at Honeyduke’s. Her face is glowing when she reads the small note attached to the nearest bouquet.

She leaves the tower as quickly as her legs can take her, hoping to make it to him before curfew.

 

XXI. (The Perfect Way to Go)

Was it supposed to be this perfect, this quickly?

“You’re going to kill me,” Harry breathes low and slow into her ear.

She grins into her pillow and ignores her sore elbows.

“What a way to go, yeah?”

 

XXII. (One More Day)

Dumbledore is gone, and Harry is distant. His eyes are faraway and glazed over. His fingertips have not been warm since.

They are laying out beneath the beech tree. Ron and Hermione are there, too, but talking amongst themselves and nearer to the forest.

Harry sits up quickly, head in his hands, and she presses her mouth to his temple.

“Does your scar hurt?”

“No,” he says.

“What’s wrong?”

He turns towards her, and she sees the look in his eyes, the one she has been dreading.

He opens his mouth, but she cuts across him before he can even begin. “Just… wait. Not yet. Please.”

A blast of wind whips her hair to and fro, and Harry gathers it in his hands, pulls on it gently, and kisses her.

“Okay.”


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to load up! Enjoy!

I. (Everywhere)

It’s a switch being flipped, and suddenly she’s light and she’s _everywhere._

Someone’s complaint one morning over burnt toast floats down the table, and Harry’s stomach flutters. He thinks automatically of Ginny, and how much she’s going to enjoy breakfast; she always picks the darkest slices.

There is a decorative vase of amber yellow flowers on Professor Sprout’s muddy desk when he goes up to turn in his essay on the benefits of Snargaluff pods. He breathes them in. They smell just like Ginny, soft and delicate and sweet.

“ _Freesia refracta_ ,” Professor Sprout says, nodding towards the bouquet when she notices him lingering there.

“Er, they’re nice,” he mumbles, and moves on quickly after that.

It’s pouring during Potions, and Professor Slughorn is collecting rainwater in a tin bucket in the high, open windows, and it sounds like the time they were stuck in the broom shed together during a rare summer storm. He remembers Ginny’s tinkling laughter as she rung out her sopping hair.

She’s everywhere, _everywhere_ , and he wishes he’d been ready for her when she’d been ready for him.

 

II. (The Thing about Dormitories)

Ron is finally snoring, and Dean’s trying to sneak out.

Harry wishes Dean were quieter about it.

Harry also wishes he didn’t know exactly where Dean was going and who he was intending to meet at such a late hour.

Still, he takes out the Marauder’s Map, perhaps because he is a glutton for punishment, and watches Dean’s dot descend the staircase. There’s a second, maybe two, and Harry wills it not to happen.

But it does.

Dean’s dot engulfs Ginny’s, and Harry tries not to set the curtains on fire.

 

III. (Christmas)

She always gifts him a handmade card for Christmas. He always buys her a small fudge sampler from Honeyduke’s. But he knows which one she likes now (salted caramel), so he gets her a package of that instead.

She hugs him in the sitting room that morning during the gift exchange, in view of all her family, and Harry tries not to show how flustered he is, a particularly difficult task indeed as her breasts are very near his face.

“Thank you,” she says gratefully, standing before him in a soft white dressing gown and pajama bottoms bedecked with glittering fairies. Arnold is diving into a pile of paperchains at her feet. “I ran out last month. You have no idea how much I _needed_ these.”

Fred and George begin to snigger, and the “you’re welcome” on his lips dies as she launches an attack on her brothers.

 

IV. (Resolutions)

Minutes before the countdown, the music is louder than usual, and Harry’s eyes travel the same well-worn path to Ginny. She’s wearing her newest Weasley jumper, robin’s egg blue with a small, silvery G worked into the chest, and jeans so brilliantly tight they’re almost like a second skin. She’s bobbing her head, jiggling her leg, and he knows she wants to dance.

He tries, and fails, to force himself to her side, to ask her for a dance; it doesn’t matter that he’d make a fool of himself. If he had her in his arms, no one else would matter but her.

He makes a resolution when the clock strikes midnight and the new year begins, to be less of a _pansy_.

 

V. (She’s Ron’s Sister)

“Well, Ginny seems okay,” is Hermione’s declaration as she falls into her usual seat across from Harry and Ron in the Gryffindor common room.

“What d’you mean?” Harry says quickly, just as Ron says, “Oh, good.”

Hermione’s eyes are alight with amusement as she explains, “Ron asked me to check up on her. You know, since she broke things off with Dean the other day.” Her grin turns a little maniacal. “ _You_ should’ve been the one to go, Harry.”

Harry flushes and stares hard at the book before him, trying to appear unmoved by what Hermione’s just said, but he’s gripping his quill so hard that his knuckles are white, and he tries with great difficulty to relax.

“Why would he?” Ron demands.

Harry grimaces at the slight note of suspicion in Ron’s voice.

“You know,” Hermione says, fluttering a hand in the air, “they’ve been a lot friendlier this year, bonding over Quidditch and all. And he would want to make sure the members of his team aren’t emotionally compromised. Right, Harry?”

“Yes, exactly,” Harry says through his teeth, glaring at her.

Ron’s face clears, and he turns back to his History of Magic textbook. “Well, that’s all right then.”

Harry’s stomach promptly sinks, and he mentally reminds himself again that _she’s Ron’s sister, she’s Ron’s sister_.

 

VI. (Refrains)

Harry sits in the common room and positions himself so that he can clearly be seen from the bottom of the girls’ staircase. He opens his newest edition of _Which Broomstick?_ and pores over the first section, dedicated, per usual, to Chasing brooms, wondering which would suit Ginny best.

He is in her line of sight when she comes back down from her dormitory, Arnold skittering along her shoulders. When she notices the magazine, asks him what she has to do to get her hands on it next, Harry wants to answer, “Kiss me,” but refrains by biting his tongue.

 

VII. (Quidditch)

He is addressing the team before the start of practice when she does it: bends over, robes outlining her fantastic bum, and it robs him completely of speech.

“Er.” Everyone is watching him, and they follow his gaze. He looks away, scratching the back of his neck as it heats up. “Ginny, what’re you doing?”

She stands back up, and it is once again safe enough to look at her. Her fingertips are caked in mud, and she smears a line on each of her cheeks. Harry isn’t the only one gaping at her, though Ron seems unsurprised by his sister’s antics and is gazing heavenward as if begging for patience.

“It’s go time!” Ginny cries so suddenly that half the team jumps. “We’re going to smash Ravenclaw to the ground! Claw out her- er, _their_ eyes! Pluck their feathers! Fry them up!”

“For Merlin’s sake, Ginny,” Ron groans through his fingers, face hidden in his hands.

Harry reckons he’s half in love with her already, and he laughs, his chest so warm he could almost swear it’s glowing.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Ginny.” He barely glances at the rest of the group before his eyes are drawn to her again. “Let’s go. Everyone in the air.”

 

VIII. (Tea)

She sits next to him at breakfast, letting out a puff of air that causes a long strand of fringe in her eyes to flutter up and settle fetchingly against her cheek. Harry mentally shakes himself to stop staring and keeps his hands busy with the tea things.

“Morning,” she rasps, pulling the eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, and fried tomatoes towards her with two sweeps of her arm.

“Good morning.”

He slides a small cup, of warm milk containing a splash of tea and two lumps of sugar, towards her.

“Oh.”

He meets her surprised eyes.

“Tea,” he says unnecessarily, and wonders if he always sounds like such a brute.

“You know how I take it,” she states with a hint of disbelief.

He manages a nod, and a smile blooms upon her face like a steady sunrise.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

With meaning, he says, “Anytime.”

 

IX. (Quidditch, II)

There’s a huge tear on the thigh of Ginny’s Quidditch uniform by the end of practice, and Harry has to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep his mind off of how creamy her skin looks, and how fucking fantastic her thighs would look wrapped around-

“Right,” he says, voice shaking just beneath the surface as he cuts through _that_ particularly wild line of thought. “That was- that was great, everyone. See you again on Friday.”

She’s grinning, cheeks mud-stained and face bright with excitement, and she’s never looked more beautiful. She skips over to him, ponytail streaming behind her, and he knows what she’s going to do- she’s been much more physically affectionate towards him lately, which he has no such complaints about, only he is far more riled up than normal thanks to those torn trousers- and he turns so that she has to throw her arm over his shoulder and side-hug him.

He squeezes her gently around the waist and quickly releases her.

“Merlin, I love Quidditch,” she says.

Her eyes are sparkling as she looks up at him. Their faces are very close. Harry can count all the freckles on the bridge of her nose, if he wants. 1, 2, 3, 4…

“Yes, we know, we know. Can we please go to dinner now?” Ron breaks in. “I’m starving.”

 

X. (The Meddler)

Hermione is trying to kill him, he’s sure of it.

Ron has gone back to the Tower, having forgotten his half-finished essay, and Harry and Hermione settle at a table towards the back of the library that’s drenched in sunlight. It’s a little warm, though not uncomfortably so, and soon enough a companionable silence settles between them amidst the whispers of their peers.

The peace is ruined when Hermione begins fidgeting in her seat. After several minutes of this, Harry tears his eyes away from the Half-Blood Prince’s book and props his chin in his hand.

“What is it?” he asks her, mildly annoyed.

Her eyes flicker over his shoulder, then back to him. “Nothing.”

He raises a skeptical brow. “Nothing? I don’t believe-”

It’s then that she does it. Waves her arms over her head, signaling at someone behind him. His stomach does an elated yet terrified sort of whirl; he knows instantly who will be joining them.

“ _You_.” He finishes his sentence with accusation overflowing in that one little syllable.

“Ginny! Here, have a seat beside Harry. I’ve got those Transfiguration notes you were asking for.”

Harry manages to throw Hermione a scowl without Ginny noticing. Hermione’s eyes are gleaming.

“Hi, Harry,” Ginny says, placing her things down next to his.

“Hey,” he says casually, though his heart is racing at breakneck speed.

She angles her chair towards him, away from the glaring sun, and she’s catching the light just so; she’s aglow and positively _radiant_.

“What?” she says to him. “Have I got something on my face?”

He is staring at her, mouth agape. Upon realizing this, his teeth click when he finally reels in his jaw.

“You haven’t,” Hermione chimes in from across the table. Her expression is all mock-innocence when she says next, “You look quite fetching today, by the way. Wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”

Harry and Ginny simultaneously glare at Hermione. Hermione is smiling with her lips pressed together, as if holding back laughter.

“ _Hermione_ ,” Ginny hisses.

With a dry mouth, Harry turns towards Ginny. He looks into her eyes and forgets every upcoming obstacle he may have to face for this.

“I mean, she’s not lying,” he says quietly.

Ginny elbows her inkwell, thankfully still stoppered. She lunges for it before it rolls off the table, and her eyes are wide when she looks at him again.

“I’m sorry, _what_ did you say?”

He takes a deep breath. “You do, you know… look fetching.”

She flushes pink, and her reaction has Harry feeling triumphant.

Then there’s a sudden _slam_ , and Harry and Ginny both jump and spin towards the source of the noise. Hermione looks at Ron with unmasked exasperation as he collapses noisily into his chair.

Ron looks from Hermione, to Ginny, to Harry.

“Did I miss something?”

 

XI. (Together)

The portraits are wide-eyed and whispering. Several students they’ve passed have come to a complete stop to gawk at them.

Ginny lets out a burst of laughter as soon as they set foot outside, as if she’d been containing it on their walk throughout the castle.

He squeezes her hand, grinning back at her like a maniac.

“Was that real? That, up there? That kiss? That really happened?” she says in a rush, her cheeks straining to contain her smile.

“Yes,” he says simply.

She laughs again, and it is contagious, for now he laughs with her.

“How long?”

“How long?”

“How long have you been wanting to do that?”

“Ages.”

“Ages,” she repeats. “ _Ages_?”

“Yes.”

She pauses, then says matter-of-factly, “Hm. Yes. I thought so.”

“Yeah?” He was sure he’d been much more subtle.

Ginny nods. “I had an inkling… but only when Demelza pointed out- the first time, and many times after that- that you were staring at me. And lately Hermione’s been so insufferable when it comes to you. I was going to take you aside, after the game, after everyone had gotten a hold of you. I was going to ask you what you’re playing at, making eyes at me and driving me to utter distraction during practice and at meals and-”

“I fancy the fuck out of you.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

They’re halfway to the Black Lake and slow to a stop on the path between the greenhouses and vegetable patch. He’s nervous, knows he shouldn’t be- he’s already kissed her. But his next move won’t be as impulsive as it’d been up in the Gryffindor common room. So, he stands there, completely flummoxed as to what to do next.

His brain stutters to a stop when Ginny tiptoes up and kisses him soundly on the mouth, and it’s even better the second time, and the third time after they’ve come up for air, and the fourth time, when she’s pulling behind greenhouse three.

 

XII. (Of Diaries…)

He’s working the plait out of her long hair, gently raking through the thick threads. He likes doing this; it relaxes them both. And she seems like she needs it today.

It’s Tuesday, and she’s been impossibly quiet the few moments he’s gotten to be with her at breakfast and lunch and between lessons. Now that they’re alone together in the common room, while the rest of the castle is in the Great Hall for dinner, Harry hopes she’ll impart with him whatever it is that is bothering her.

She blurts out just as a log in the grate pops, “I write in a diary.”

Harry freezes, heart flushing blood ice cold, but forces himself to say as lightly as possible, “It doesn’t write back, I expect.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Okay.”

She turns, wraps herself so tightly around him that he doesn’t quite know where he ends and she begins, and it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, her against him like this.

“It’s not a real diary, though,” she says, nuzzling his neck. Her breath fans across his collar bone, and his skin immediately erupts with goosebumps. “I don’t write in everything that’s happened to me.”

“What do you write, then?”

“Only good things, happy memories.”

She allows his fingers to glide up the sides of her shirt and around her back, and she twitches, ticklish, when he reaches halfway up her spine.

“Am I in it?” he asks her.

“You’re all over it.”

 

XIII. (…and Tom Riddle)

They are in the Astronomy Tower, lying on their backs and staring up at the twinkling sky, when she says, “Tom was my first friend.”

He looks at her, but she keeps looking up, up at the stars, and her eyes are reflecting their sparkling light. Of what he can see of her face, it is clear; there is no sadness, or anger, just acceptance of a past she cannot change.

He slides his hand into hers, and it is very cold. “He wasn’t your friend.”

She shrugs a shoulder, still avoiding his eyes. “Yes and no.”

“Ginny-”

“I know. I _know_ he used me, manipulated me, _tried to kill me_ , but at the very beginning of it all, he was the first person to ever make me feel like I was… I don’t know. Important.”

Harry does not know what to say to her. She’s never shaken him quite like this before.

“I’m sorry,” he manages because that is the only thing he can think of.

She turns towards him finally. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

Now Harry shrugs. “Yes and no.”

She kisses him then, slowly and deeply, her lips velvet soft against his. “We’re fucked up, aren’t we?”

Harry laughs a little sadly against her mouth. “Yeah, probably.”

 

XIV. (The Courtyard)

Harry has a feeling she knows exactly what she is doing.

Their secret courtyard holds one gnarly tree with perfect footholds for climbing. Ginny is up it in a flash, and settles onto the first thick branch.

Should he mention he can see straight up her skirt? Her knickers are navy blue with white trim, and the very image burns into his mind’s eye in an instant.

She’s smirking when he looks up at her face, her head shielding the sun so she is all haloed in bright light.

“See something you like?”

Ginny _does_ know what she’s doing.

Harry walks forward, reaches up to grip her dangling foot. He needs to touch her. “I do.”

She’s bites her bottom lip for a moment, an action that drives him utterly mad with desire. Then she says, “Whatever will you do about it?”

“Come down here, and I’ll show you,” he says.

She reaches down, bending double, and he grasps her beneath the arms. She slides down his body, and Harry cannot stifle the groan he releases against her lips as her legs wrap around his waist. She is warm all over, and he presses her into the tree, nearly killing them both when he trips over a root in his haste to be as close to her as possible, and then she is _hot_ , all over his hand as she gasps in his ear.

 

XV. (Forever)

She’s curled into the crook of his arm, chest heaving.

“I… that… you do that _far_ too well,” she says, breathing labored.

He smirks at her lazily, sleepily. After all, he’d come first. “Well, I had a very good teacher.”

She lets out a laugh. “You’re a fast learner.”

They are in the Room of Requirement, skiving dinner again. Ginny caresses his bicep with feather-light fingertips, rubs her nose against his ribcage, and suddenly his throat is tight.

_What did I do to deserve you?_

Instead, he says as evenly as he can, “I love you.”

Ginny shifts and tilts her face up to look at him. Her eyebrows are furrowed; she’s not fooled, not for a second. “What is it?”

He presses into her, rolls on top of her, and for the first time, they are completely bare and flush together.

Her eyes are wide. “What is it?” she says again.

He shakes his head, unable to say another word without breaking, drops his forehead to rest against hers.

And perhaps she gets it, gets why he’s suddenly embarrassingly emotional, because she does not press him anymore. She wraps herself around him, tightly, and whispers, “I love you, too. Forever.”

 

XVI. (Lesson Learned)

When she finally tells him what’s wrong, he makes the stupid mistake of grimacing, and she doesn’t let him live it down.

After lunch and in the middle of the packed common room, Ginny empties her entire purse of feminine products into his lap.

“Hold these for a moment, would you?” she says, the corners of her lips twitching.

Swimming in pads and cheeks on fire, Harry meekly nods his head.

Hermione is openly laughing at him. Ron shifts uncomfortably in his chair and throws him a commiserating look, but does absolutely nothing to save him from further mortification.

Harry vows to remember the sting of betrayal from his so-called best friends.

Ginny, meanwhile, is dramatically digging through the depths of her purse, and saying loud enough for everyone to hear, “I just can’t find the jumbo ones. You know, for a heavy flow?” She turns towards Harry again, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Would you be a _good boyfriend_ and sort through the ones you have there? There has to be one big enough for today.”

Lesson learned, Harry finds the largest pad in the pile and hands it over to her silently.

She rewards him with a kiss, grinning against his mouth, and says, “You’re the best.”

 

XVII. (Talk)

She looks upset when he picks her up outside of Potions.

He opens his mouth to ask her what’s wrong, but she shakes her head and tugs at his hand. They are quiet as they trek through the castle and out onto the grounds, and it’s not until they’re in a thicket of trees by the Black Lake that Ginny takes a deep, shuddering breath, and presses her face into his chest.

“What is it?” he says at once, wrapping her in his arms.

“Do you think I’m a slut?”

Harry jolts in surprise and pulls away enough to look down at her. “ _What_?”

She doesn’t meet his gaze, and her voice is small when she says, “Never mind.”

He withholds the urge to shake her. “Ginny, who-”

“Girls talk,” she cuts in, “and apparently three boyfriends in two years is a lot.”

“They’re idiots. The lot of them. It’s not like you cheated on them, or… or…”

“Had sex with them?”

Harry stares at her. He doesn’t know how far she’s gone with her previous partners, and a very large part of him would rather be willfully ignorant about it all, but if she _had_ been with Michael, or Dean, or anyone else, it still wouldn’t change how he feels about her, how enamored and deeply in love he is with her.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he says.

She ignores that and says, “I haven’t. I haven’t been with anyone. Not like that.” She pauses, meets his eyes. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Oh,” is all he can manage because his mind is now going a mile a minute, and he tries very hard to control the sudden impulse to ravish her.

Ginny’s smiling, but she still looks a little dejected. “I wish people would just mind their own damn business.”

He hugs her, kisses her temple. “I’ve been wishing the same thing for years.”

 

XVIII. (The Apology)

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“I know that, too.”

“Forgive me?”

She looks suspicious. “Are you only apologizing because you want to get in my pants now?”

“No,” he says, and it’s the truth. “I panicked, and I hurt your feelings. I really am sorry.”

Ginny looks down at her hands, pulls and presses at her fingers, making them crack and pop. She is biding her time, thinking hard.

After a few terribly long seconds, she says, “I understand if you’re not ready-”

“I am,” he says quickly. “Ready, I mean. It’s just…”

“What?”

“The day before yesterday… we talked about…”

“The end of us.”

Harry’s gut twists painfully at the words. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“I love you,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that’s hard and sure. “I want this. Us. _You._ For however long we have.”

“Okay.”

And then she is kissing him.

 

XIX. (His)

She’s all around him, _his_ , pale skin and soft thighs and full breasts, _his._

“Fuck,” he mutters, beginning to come undone. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

Ginny arches beneath him, makes a delicious noise from the back of her throat, and agrees, “Yes. _Fuck_.”

 

XX. (Hers)

There’s something in her eyes, something in the way she moves over him, and it’s like she’s making sure he knows that he is hers, and hers alone.

His fingers tighten on her hips, answering.

He’s known this for a while now.

 

XXI. (After The Funeral)

Hermione leaves the group of Weasleys several meters away and walks over to him. Harry looks the other way quickly, hoping he hadn’t been caught watching her speak with Ginny.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione says when she reaches him.

He looks at his friend, eyes a little puffy, hair wilder than normal.

“She told you?”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Of course she did, and anyone else who will listen. You want everyone to know, don’t you? I mean, that’s the point of all this, isn’t it?”

Harry doesn’t respond. There nothing to say, not really.

After a pregnant pause, Hermione continues, “She knew it was coming. She said you two had spoken about it, to a certain extent.”

“Yeah. We had.”

“Well, fair warning: she’s not thrilled.”

There was a heavy feeling in his stomach. Harry had not expected anything less.

 

XXII. (The Train)

He feels several eyes upon him and knows at once that the news has spread, that their breakup is real; he cannot do anything to comfort her, only look into her beautiful, red-rimmed eyes and remain resolute in his decision that this is the only way to keep her safe.

She opens her mouth, perhaps to yell at him, raises a hand, perhaps to strike him, but then her chin trembles, Harry’s heart breaks, and her trunk slips out of her hands.

Ron is by her side in a second, lugging her trunk with his free hand. “Come on, let’s find Neville and Luna. You’d planned on getting a compartment with them, yeah?”

“I hadn’t, not until a few hours ago,” Ginny says, and there is a hint of anger simmering beneath the surface of her words.

She turns, her fiery hair fanning across her shoulders, and begins down the train without a backwards glance. Ron follows her, and Harry is left alone with Hermione. Together, they find an empty compartment and close the partition on a group of second years who are shamelessly staring at them.

Harry busies himself with stowing their trunks away. Hermione sits silently, watching, and when Ron joins them after the train has already begun to move, he does it, because he can’t bear not knowing.

Miserably, he starts, “Is she-?”

Ron cuts him off and refuses to look at him. “She will be.”


End file.
